Clearer Air
by ChaliceInk
Summary: Lady Mary seeks to find out why Bertie still doesn't like her. Now a collection of vignettes from Edith and Bertie's engagement period as seen from their point of view and more unusual character angles. Chapter 7 Lady Mary confronts her sister about her behavior and underwear; Chapter 8 Tom and Laura flirt about it
1. Clearer Air

**Clearer Air**

 _Usual disclaimers of non-ownership_

Mary took a deep breath as she entered the drawing room. She hated this kind of thing. She was so bad at it. She poked her head into the drawing room The room was empty except for a solitary figure sitting quietly at the desk engaged in correspondence.

Huzzah. She had the pleasure of interrupting him as he performed whatever task he was doing. Well cheers, anyway.

"Hello, Bertie," She said, brightly, "Are we the first ones in for tea?"

Bertie rose to his feet as he looked at his wrist watch in apparent confusion, "It's not even three o'clock, so yes, I think we are."

"Splendid. I was hoping to speak with you in any case. Just the two of us." She raised her arm, indicating that he should join her in the sitting area, he came reluctantly, "Yes, no time like the present." She babbled.

Bertie sat in the arm chair in the least convenient conversation spot and looked at her with a neutral expression, saying nothing. Given that Mary had observed that Bertie's resting face was genial and good humored, she presumed (or rather Henry and Tom had drilled into her skull at length) that Bertie had never quite forgiven her for the whole Edith/Marigold/breakfast bombshell debacle. If she wanted peace to reign in the family, she had to make amends.

"I just thought we should clear the air." Mary started.

Bertie leaned forward and said nothing.

"Since we are going to be brother and sister, I would like us to start out that relationship with no hard feelings between us." She clarified.

Bertie nodded, then spoke in cool measured tones, "I suppose what feelings exist between you and me would depend on your attitude toward and your treatment of your sister and your niece in the future. If it continues to be as deplorable as it has been in the past then any relationship between you and me will be necessarily be adversarial and hostile."

"Edith and I are sisters." Mary explained, dismissively.

"Then I've heard enough." Bertie began to stand up, "I understand that Edith is used to this dynamic. I think, however, it is unwise to expose Marigold to the continued danger that I believe someone as unstable as you poses."

"I only wanted to apologize for my behavior... if you would only..." Mary huffed.

"And yet you have not apologized. Not once." Bertie sneered. "Not to Edith, at any rate."

Mary rolled her eyes.

"Oh, you didn't realize that she'd noticed or you never thought she'd think to mention it anyone? Or that anyone would listen?" Bertie asked. "I've apologized to her. For how I reacted, for not listening to her when she tried to tell be about Marigold the night before you so helpfully forced the situation upon us. And what mostly I apologized for was not believing her when she told me what a truly malevolent presence you are and have been in her life." He paused, "You barely knew me, but you threw the truth about Marigold on the table. What if I'd been vindictive? If I'd decided to use the information to ruin Edith? To ruin Marigold?"

"Oh, I knew you wouldn't have done that. You're a gentleman. And you loved Edith too much to harm her." Mary rolled her eyes knowingly.

"So you knew how much we loved each other? Is that what offended you?" Bertie shook his head in disgust.

"I was in a foul mood." Mary explained, crossly. "It wasn't my best day."

"You seem to be a foul mood now," Bertie mocked, "Shall I have the children taken to low ground for their own safety?"

"I fixed things! I arranged for you to meet at the Ritz!" Mary exclaimed.

"Things would have been fixed without you! I was keeping track of when Edith went to London. The next time she was in town, I was going to meet with her. Nothing was going to stop me. We were going to reconcile with or without your telephonic intervention." Bertie dismissed her. Suddenly, he looked disgusted. "You fixed things? You don't fix things by throwing the broken pieces in a box and yelling "fix yourselves!' Honestly. Were you raised by wolves?"

"As I said before, we are going to be brother and sister," Mary said in a low dangerous voice, "we need to try to get along."

Bertie folded his arms, "Do you understand how much we hurt her that morning? You and I? Do you care? It rips up my soul because I behaved as badly as she ever feared I could. Guess what, Lady Mary. As did you. We both raced to the bottom of her worst case scenario." He walked away from her to the desk and gathered his correspondence, "If I thought you gave a damn about that. That you felt the least bit guilty about causing her that amount of pain, fear and sadness... then perhaps we might try to get along. But since you don't, my energies will be better spent protecting my wife and children from your influence."

Mary watched him walk out of the room.

At half past three, Edith breezed in with a sunny smile on her face, seeing Mary sitting by the window glowering, she called, "Not as bad as all that, surely?" receiving naught but an eye roll in response, she asked "Have you seen Bertie? He was finishing some correspondence in here before tea."

Mary waved her hands, "He's not here, as you see."

"Yes, I do," Edith said, walking to the other side of the room, "Perhaps he's gone to have Carson put the letters in the post." Edith bit her lip in excitement, "It's about us legally adopting Marigold after the wedding. Together, as a married couple." She confided, breathlessly.

"What?" Mary asked rising, and walking toward her sister with a confused look.

"Yes, isn't it Marvelous?" Edith asked with shining eyes, "It will be a private adoption, but it will hopefully quash any questions for most people. Bertie actually started to look into when he'd first asked me to marry him. It was a lot simpler before he became a peer, obviously. But we can still do it now, there will just be more lawyers. They'll be more expensive. But I'll finally get to be her mother in front of the world and be able to give her a real father and a name she can own."

"I hope it works out well. Is there anything that can be done to help it along?" Mary asked, earnestly.

"Murray is helping from Papa's end, since he's known to be her legal guardian. Until we are actually married, though we are limited as to what we can do. As a married couple, it should move quickly." Edith said, "I was just so thrilled when Bertie told me how far he had gotten in the process. I almost kissed his face off after dinner last night."

"Less description, if you please." Mary raised an eyebrow. "He might have gone into the music room to finish his letters. We had a bit of a tiff."

"Really?" Edith asked, "Bertie doesn't usually engage in tiffs."

"He doesn't like me."

"Oh, God, no!" Edith laughed, "He thinks you are just awful."

"Have you thought to defend me?" Mary asked. Edith's eyes widened. "For the sake of family unity?"

"What could I possibly say to defend you?" Edith asked.

"We're having a pleasant conversation..." Mary snapped.

"My heavens, yes." Edith nodded, gracefully taking a seat on the sofa, "this part in particular is delightful."

"The Dowager Countess of Grantham." Announced Andrew as Granny came in.

"Thank God. Someone can speak sense to her." Mary huffed, as Edith kissed their grandmother's cheek.

"Oh, dear, that's an ominous greeting. Into what sisterly maelstrom am I strolling into the center?" The old woman shrewdly glared at her eldest granddaughter as she came to kiss her cheek as well.

"I am trying to mend fences with Lord Hexham, but Edith refuses to assist me." Mary stated.

"Isn't everything well between you and Bertie," the dowager asked Edith, alarmed.

"Everything is marvelous between us," she smiled, her face aglow.

"What fences are discussing, then?" the old woman looked confused.

"Mary wants to add Bertie to the cloud of men in evening clothes that huddle in corners and do her bidding on social occasions." Edith smirked.

"The tuxedo'd, overly perfumed haze of admirers? Well, it never actually was romantic for Mary with any of them." The dowager nodded.

"It's not like that!" Mary snapped. "I want to have as good a relationship with Bertie as Henry and Edith have."

"That's not possible, dear." The dowager sat down. "Henry likes Edith as a person. He would have done so if the two of you hadn't met or married. If Edith and Bertie hadn't become a couple, if you two had become acquainted, you would have either detested one another or hardly marked the other's existence."

"I would like him to not think I am an ogre." Mary rolled her eyes.

"That might be nice," Edith shrugged, "I just don't know that I am the one to make the case," she explained to her grandmother.

"No. I can see that. My goodness, what would you say?" The old woman agreed, "It may be, my dear, that you will simply have to behavior in a less ogre like fashion. Bertie doesn't seem like the type to hold a grudge, Edith?"

Edith tilted her head to the side, "If he thinks a person is contrite and unlikely to behave in such a fashion again or that they didn't intend to cause offense..."

"That bodes ill for you, my dear," Granny smirked, "apologizing without it dripping with insincerity was never your long suit. And you generally always mean to give offense."

"Why does it matter?" Edith asked, "It's not like we are going to be living in the same house together."

"It's Tom and Henry. They are convinced I can't accomplish it." Mary admitted.

Edith rolled her eyes, "Oh, I see. I can't believe I thought it was something more altruistic. I won't trouble myself further." She rose, "I am going to find Bertie, Granny, I'll be right back." She went the door, glanced back at her sister and rolled her eyes again.

"Why will everyone misunderstand me?" Mary asked, irritated.

"That is the first question asked by the perfectly understood." Granny smiled, "You are queen, it is imperative your subjects are in line."

"Edith's not in line." Mary hissed.

"Hence your difficulty with her. You and she are like mirrors only reflecting the other's worst angles. So you've both spent your entire life trying to break the mirror or to make other people see the image you do. Your problem with Bertie is that he sees things from Edith's angle."

"Henry doesn't see things from mine. 'You must be better friends with Edie.' 'Edie told me the wildest magazine story!' 'Then Edie took the wheel and I thought Tom was going to...'" Mary frowned, "Apparently, Bertie is as boring as I am according to Tom. "Then Bertie looked at my paper work and saw 6 ways to make our processes more efficient.' 'Then Bertie said he'd speak to our wholesaler and get him to knock a point and half off our next order of feed." I'd love to have those conversations with him!"

"Oh, for heaven's sake. Then just have a livestock problem and ask him for advice!" Granny huffed. "Leave Edith out of it. If you want to talk about farming, talk about farming. You'll get further as professional colleagues."

"Leave emotions out of it?" Mary asked.

"Quit going for the heart strings, aim for gaining respect. And don't talk about your sister, you'll say something unforgivable. You just can't help yourself."

Mary nodded, "I see your point."

"Good girl." Granny said.

Edith came back into the room dragging Bertie by the hand. Seeing the dowager, he bowed formally, "Lady Grantham. How are you?"

"Quite well, Lord Hexham." She replied.

"Granny's in on this conversation," Edith said, hip checking her fiancé. Looking at her sister, "You two may not speak. You do not have to like each other. You do have to respect each other as members of the family. You, Bertie, have to give Mary the benefit of the doubt. You, Mary, have to try to be nice and understand why it is hard for him to trust you. I am not going to ask if are able to do these things. You will do these things." Edith said with finality. "The last thing we want is Tom and Henry rolling their eyes and grinning like monkeys because they know they were right about something."

"That would be annoying," Bertie conceded.

"Oh, God, thank you!" Mary sighed, "They get so sanctimonious when they are together sometimes you just want to slap them."

"Bertie, Mary has some land agent questions for you that you can discuss during tea." Granny said as Cora and Robert entered the room.

"Of course, I'll assist if I can," Bertie replied joining Mary in a conversation that both would find punishing and interesting.

Tom and Henry drank their tea in the corner grinning and rolling their eyes, as congratulated themselves at arranging the new understanding and possible friendship between Edith's fiancé and her sister.

"One really does want to slap them." Noted the dowager countess to her younger granddaughter.


	2. The Chaperone and The Biscuit

**The Chaperone and The Biscuit**

 _General disclaimer of non-ownership_

Henry knew better. He just did. Mary saw nothing. Her mother had asked her to chaperone Edith and Bertie for the duration of this house party and Mary was prepared to do precisely nothing.

If left to their own devices Edith and Bertie could be enjoy passionate nightcaps of unmarried delights in the middle of the drawing room and Mary would remain oblivious.

Mary thought they could be trusted. Or trust wasn't an issue because they were both duds. Edith was once bitten and therefore twice shy and Bertie was far too proper to... _do_. Though, how Edith ever got bit in the first place, Mary would never know.

Henry Talbot loved is wife, but she was a bloody idiot where her sister was concerned. Edie could be quite a little biscuit when she choose to turn it on. With her perfect skin and her big doe eyes and her perchance for daring, almost backless gowns. He'd seen her on the town a few times when she'd been being squired by Michael Gregson. He knew exactly how and why Edie 'got bit'. He wasn't quite sure if he believed it only happened once... He didn't believe Gregson's self-control to be that herculean.

And Bertie might seem that proper, but one just had to look at his and Edie's courtship trajectory to know that wasn't the case at all. Pelham had approached her after a scant and remote acquaintance on the streets of London (Henry considered himself bold, but even he might not have made that move) and asked her out for a drink hoping to roll that into a dinner date.

To repeat, Bertie saw Lady Edith Crawley on the street, yelled "Oy, Edie, remember me? We had a dance 6 months ago... Fancy a drink?" That worked for him. And the rest was history... in some ways, Bertie was Henry's hero.

Bertie must have known based on his social status, his professional prospects, financial situation and most other clicks on the suitable match scale, he should have just let the lady keep on walking. He didn't. He called after her, chatted her up, closed the drink deal then managed to parlay that into spending the night with her doing a fun project where sandwiches and coffee were served while he got to be nothing but charming.

Then this romantic master-mind managed to orchestrate their next series of dates to be completely unapproved by and unbeknownst to any parental authorities on either side. And Henry happened to know they enjoyed a few fun filled, unchaperoned late nights at swanky London cafes followed by nightcaps at her flat... Granted they were both consenting adults, and what happened was between them and the four walls of Edie's flat was all their own business... But still. Well done Bertie! Henry had only been able to lure Mary down for two dinners and a picnic, and one Tom had come along for one dinner, the other her entire family tagged along for the picnic.

In any case, by the time Edie's parents even knew the pair were seeing each other, they were well into the indiscriminate snogging phase and Edie was already trying to figure out how to tell him about Marigold. (Very dim on both Bertie and Mary's part. Henry'd guessed within minutes). But when Henry had desired to get Mary and her family down to the races, Tom had assured him the one way to get Edie onboard was to invite Bertie. And all he'd have to do to get Bertie was to join the fray was to dangle Edie in front of him.

Henry had admired Bertie even then. He'd been so forthright about the whole thing. He'd come to be with Edith. He would have come to London to tar the track at Brookings if he could have had lunch and a bit of a cuddle with Edie afterwards. And Henry had admired Edie, too. She didn't give a damn if Bertie had money or not. If her family were onboard or not. She liked Bertie. She liked him as a man and as a person. Her face lit up when she saw him. She sat near him, she would touch him, smile and turn her doe eyes up at him. Bertie knew where he stood with Edie. And she knew where she stood with him. In the gooey center of love.

When the family had left the day after Charlie died, he'd gone to the train station to try to talk some sense into Mary. Instead he'd found Edie and Bertie saying good-bye in a vestibule. For a long time they were saying good-bye. Bertie's hat had been in his hand, but that hand seemed to be resting on Edie's lovely backside, the other stroking the bare skin of her arm below her sleeves, her gloves were off as she cupped his face as they kissed good-bye, slowly... he'd left quite dispirited, knowing even if Mary had been in a mood not to break his heart, he'd never get that kind of send-off from her.

Not in the daylight, when it wasn't raining sans tunnel. Even now that they were married, he doubted he'd get that kind of good-bye at a train station.

So Bertie definitely inspired Edie to go into full bitable, biscuit mode.

The up-shot was that Henry had seen enough of his sister-in-law's courtship to know that those two couldn't be trusted in a house with a bed unless an authority figure was in attendance to make them think twice. He didn't know if they were actually sleeping together, but if they were not, it was only because they hadn't. It wasn't because they WOULDN'T.

He felt like a bit of a prude for giving it a second thought. They were getting married in six weeks. It had basically reached the point of "c'est la vie." Even if she got pregnant, a chorus of 'oh my goodness, the gigantic baby has come early!' and it would never be spoken of again until the little bugger could count backwards by nine months.

"Anyway, Tom is going to be here for the duration as well. That should keep the happy couple out of trouble." Mary blathered, "Not that I believe there's much trouble to be had."

Henry dusted a bit of lint of his tails, "Laura Edmonds is coming up for the party as well, isn't she?"

"Yes. I believe Edith secured her an invitation. It's nice to have another lady so all the guns have a partner." Mary regarded her image in the mirror with pleasure.

"Who's going to chaperone her and Tom?" Henry smirked.

"Edith?" Mary responded, "Please! Don't be vulgar. There's nothing going on there, but a spot of flirting. It'll do Tom a world of good, but there's no reason to believe it would ever go further," smiling into her make up mirror, "Anna! How is Lady Edith getting along?" she called, to her maid who was just entering.

Anna waddled over smiling, "Just fine. All her new gowns are very simple so she can handle undressing by herself. They practically come off on their own! I just helped her with her hair a bit."

Henry made a noise that sounded a lot like "Eureka" at the statement that the gowns came off on their own.

"You see sex everywhere, that's your problem," Mary said haughtily. "Just because you can't be trusted, you assume Bertie can't be."

Anna's eyes widened and she quickly turned and began to busy herself at the wardrobe. Mary didn't notice, but Henry did. He choose to say nothing and smirk.

"Anyway, I should think you'd be happy. Bertie doesn't hate me anymore." Mary said brightly.

"As long as you don't talk about evil about Edie." Henry grinned, "Ah, but it's not like I give Edie full reign to vent her feelings about you either, my love," he leaned down and kissed her cheek.

Mary looked vaguely horrified, "I should hope not!"

"I just tell her that her Mary is not my Mary." Henry smiled, rubbing her neck, "Then she says something to the effect of "See that it stays that way."

Mary considered being cross with Edith for a moment, then continued with her toilette. "Your sister-in-law gives you sound advice." She said, haughtily, giving him a roguishly smile.

"Edie's a biscuit!" He kissed his wife on the top of her head and darted out the door. Yelling "Cocktails!" as he went.

"She's nothing like a biscuit!" Mary shouted back. Turning to Anna, "You've undressed her for years..."

Anna hedged, "I'm not a man, my lady, but I could see... in the last few years she's quite blossomed. She does some very daring underthings... She could be considered a bit of a biscuit..." Anna said apologetically.

"What kind of daring underthings?" Mary asked, raising an eyebrow wondering why a spinster had daring underthings.


	3. Sheer Loyalty

**Sheer Loyalty**

Anna had made herself scarce before Lady Mary could ferret any of the further mysteries of Lady Edith's lingerie wardrobe from her unwilling lips. All Lady Mary had gotten out of her was "modern" and "not very frilly". Although the lady's maid was entirely devoted to her mistress, she had a strong sense of loyalty to Lady Edith. She'd been the maid for all three sisters for many years. She refused to divulge the secrets of any of three. Even to Lady Mary. Even when asked a direct question.

For the last few years, Lady Edith had been protected by Anna's loyalty and Lady Mary's lack of interest in her sister's interesting and varied secrets.

Like the fact that when Lady Edith started her career at the Sketch, that was when her wardrobe underwent a revolution. Especially in the underwear drawer and especially in terms of evening gowns that a lady needed very little help getting out of. And interestingly, Lady Edith almost never wore even casually revealing dresses at Downton. They all seemed to migrate to London. In fact there was one daring peacock blue stunner she'd packed for Lady Rosamund's house and that was never to be seen again.

Also, since Lady Mary had never asked there was never any reason to point out that though Lady Edith had almost no appetite after Mr. Gregson's disappearance and seemed to lose weight in her face and arms, directly before her trip to Switzerland she'd had quite a round little belly she'd been hiding under her fashionably loose dresses. It was made more noticeable my how much leaner she'd become. Also the sad, hunted look in the poor girl's eyes...

Anna had surprised Lady Edith while she was undressing one day. It was during the period after she'd all but abandoned being attended in her toilette because she was preparing to join the dashing Mr. Gregson in a freer, more bohemian sort of lifestyle... Mmmm. Mr. Gregson. Of all the suitors of the sisters, he was the one that Anna found the most... enviable. He had a trade, good looks... dimples you could fill with water and swim around in... and judging by how Lady Edith floated up the stairs after a certain farewell, he must have been quite a kisser.

And Mr. Gregson had also been the commencement of Lady Edith of the naughty undergarments. Anna should have known no entirely virtuous relationship would have inspired a lady to order all new bits of this and that from a shop in Paris. But clearly Lady Edith enjoyed wearing that sort of thing because she'd never gone back to underwear with more purposeful construction, whether she was being courted or not. While Lady Mary was always fashionable, Lady Edith always favored... Lady Edith preferred sheer. Anyone giving her a passing glance or seeing her backlit while she was changing would honestly assume Lady Edith Crawley just went around naked under her clothes all the time.

Hearing Lady Mary constantly harp about her sister's dowdiness as if it were a matter of fact, always bothered Anna. Now hearing Mr. Talbot declaring Lady Edith to be a biscuit, brought a smile to her face. However hearing the couple discuss whether or not Lord Hexham was more or less sexually trustworthy than Mr. Talbot gave her a little pause.

What if she knew the answer and what if the answer was no?

Perhaps it was nothing... the thing that Anna had seen. It had occurred at the engagement ball that Lord and Lady Grantham had thrown Lady Edith at Downton. It was only a couple of weeks ago so it was still rather fresh in her mind.

The house had been full of people. She'd been upstairs going about some business for Lady Mary when she'd heard a bit of giggling coming from Lord Hexham's room.

It wasn't like Anna to snoop, but she cracked the door open, and saw Lady Edith, perched on his dressing table with her gown half off and Lord Hexham gamely trying to sew it back on to her. The difficulty was increased because the light was dim and they couldn't stop giggling. He might have also been distracted by the fact that her brassiere was completely sheer and her nipple was apparently eager for attention.

"Should we ring for help?" Lady Edith asked, realizing this wasn't going well, grabbing his hand to prevent him taking another stab at it, as it were.

His head came down heavily on her shoulder, (very near to the location the eager nipple, if you asked Anna...) as he sighed, "what would we say happened? The truth?"

"Your mother's in the house! Don't be daft!" Edith exclaimed. "Let's get me back to my room. Then you go drink something. I'll ring for help. Or change dresses."

"I am so sorry." Lord Hexham said, downcast, "this clearly wasn't what I intended.."

Lady Edith chuckled, "Let's not take all the credit, my love. I thought that was going to work too."

Anna had receded from the room and as she was pretending to walk away Lord Hexham emerged, looked shocked to see her and said in a loud stage voice, "Oh, HELLO MRS. BATES!" clearly aiming his voice behind him.

Popping her head out, Lady Edith cried, "Anna, for the love of GOD, get in here!"

Suffice to say. Anna fixed the dress and was assured, "it wasn't what it looked like."

Even later, Lady Edith wouldn't say what had happened, she just laughed a throaty, dirty little laugh and said things didn't quite go according to plan.


	4. Reflections

**Reflections**

 _These are not set in any kind of order..._

The Dowager Countess was becoming increasingly annoyed with her daughter. Ever since Edith and Bertie had reconciled and become engaged Rosamund had been fairly dancing on air. She'd been almost as delighted as the bride herself, whose beaming joy conversely Violet found completely charming and in whose light, as proud grandmother, she took especial pleasure in basking. But decorum was required and certain degree of self-discipline was necessary to deliver the bride to the altar with the skills necessary to be an effective Marchioness.

That decorum was not reflected by Rosamund grasping Edith to her side at every spare moment, stroking her hair and wistfully calling her poppet.

Between Rosamund and Robert, the child was in danger of being smothered with approval and affection in the after-dinner hour. Robert was so entirely enraptured to have an ennobled son-in-law (and one that wasn't a jackass to boot, heavens bless him! The next session of the house of Lords was going to be a great deal more enjoyable!) and to have the daughter he'd come to see as his most deserving settled with a man who adored her so completely, he claimed it had healed his ulcer.

Violet had no idea how she'd managed to raise to such affectionate, dim-witted children. Clearly the late Earl had spent more time in the nursery than she'd credited.

Edith's romantic career had certainly been more varied than had been expected of her as a girl. The changing times and fashions had suited both her temperament and her figure. And she'd been studious in learning every lesson that life and love had ruthlessly thrown at her head.

The war had been a very good thing for Edith, forcing her to look out of herself. Giving her a door out into the wider world and oh how she stepped through it. Violet had been proud of her granddaughter. It hadn't been the showier work that Sybil had done, but she'd done many lovely things more quietly. Her tender, devoted care for William Mason during his death had given her grandmother great pride.

And what had her reward been? To fall in love with an elderly crippled man. Sir Anthony was a nice man to be sure. And a suitable husband. For Cousin Isobel. But he was not for the Edith that the war had revealed to her grandmother. That fast driving girl surely needed someone with a little more blood flowing to all his various extremities, someone who would give her a bit of a challenge. The best thing that ever happened to Edith was when she'd been abandoned at the altar. It had revealed her spine. It had lit a fire in her. Although her grandmother would certainly never have encouraged her to write a letter to the Times on any subject... it proved the proverb.

When the student is ready the teacher will appear.

The Dowager Countess was not surprised that Edith had illicitly lost her virginity to Mr. Gregson. After giving Edith a subversive outlet for her most modern views, introducing her to his bohemian social set and doing everything in his power to awaken the sleeping dragon of her granddaughter's rather interesting intellect, had the girl's virtue survived the relationship... that would have been the shock. Also he had those deep dimples and that disarming smile. Had she been her granddaughter's age and in her position, she'd have acted passionately and rashly as well. Indeed her in own past she'd acted rather more rashly and with more passion and nearly wrought greater destruction, but there was no reason for Edith to know about that.

Edith had broken free of any discernable mold with the birth of her child. Most girls who found themselves in that position were just that. Girls. They did what they were told because that's all they'd ever done. Edith was not like them.

When Edith had Marigold, she was a woman who had abandoned blind obedience to those who claimed to know best some time before. She'd written enough about women's rights to, unfortunately, know that she had them. That made it difficult for anyone to tell her that she had no choice but to sign away rights to her baby. To tell her that she simply wasn't allowed to nurse her child. That it was impossible for her legal name to appear on the birth certificate. Edith had reacted coldly to all attempts to manage her and went her own way. So instead of giving her baby away permanently in adoption, she'd given it to a foster family and paid them financial consideration. When she could no longer stand the misery of not being with her child she fetched the little girl. She brought her child ever closer to her, until she had Marigold in her arms again. In doing so, Edith abandoned the hope of finding a husband, for who would want a woman so encumbered? And where would she find love again after Michael?

Thus enter the adorable land agent.

Bertie Pelham had stolen Edith's heart very quickly. Apparently, not as quickly as she had stolen his, but still.

Unlike with Henry Talbot, Violet had never been overly concerned about his finances or his prospects. He was of good birth, a gentleman with a profession. If he and Edith loved one another, there was no reason to suppose it couldn't be a successful match. Edith was the kind of woman who would be made happy by love and would strive to make those she loved truly happy as well.

It was the honest blessing of an unhappy childhood.

The only trick had been when to tell him about Marigold. He'd been very sweet about her little ward. Would that translate into being very sweet about the child of passion she'd created with her last great love? Even without knowing about Marigold, the fact that Gregson had left Edith not only a home, but his business and the training to run it probably indicated to Mr. Pelham that Edith and her Mr. Gregson were more than just chaste admirers and had veered into a more modern, perhaps more _interesting_ way of relating to one another.

Also, Edith was no may flower. And from what Violet now knew, she'd behaved in quite a modern fashion during her early courtship with Bertie as well.

That is to say that Edith could be a trifle unrestrained in her affections, not that she necessarily gave the whole cake away as dear mama used to say. The fact that Mary just had to drop one bombshell to despoil their perfectly good love affair had confirmed that Edith hadn't given Bertie the best of her bakery.

Violet had been very cross with Mary the whole train ride home, but what good did it do rail at her when she was among the guilty parties that had raised the woman to behave so poorly at times? The only thing to be done at that point was to get her eldest granddaughter married off before she burned the whole manor house to the ground and to attempt to force her to make amends to her sister.

Of course, the dowager thought, sourly, Mary had never done so. Of course she would never truly make an even tolerably good apology to her sister, not unless some act of God occurred or Lord Hexham's disapproval was a stronger weapon than one could dare hope. Thank God, somewhere along the way some unknown personage had actually taken some pains with Edith's upbringing (teaching her the importance of forgiveness and family unity and whatnot) or the family would have fallen apart at the seams.

And actually, it seemed Lord Hexham's displeasure might be a stronger motivating force than an act of God at this juncture.

Since Bertie had expressed his deep dislike of his future sister-in-law, Mary had been rather solicitous to him. So much so that the barbs she directed at her sister's head were much less razor-bladesque and one or two of the more apt japes had actually made Edith laugh. And when she'd returned with a jest in kind, Mary had laughed in returned.

Clearly, the world was running mad.

Seeing both her granddaughters so relaxed and cheerful made Violet realize two things, Henry Talbot was very good at his true job, which was distracting Mary from burning the manor down with sex, and two, Bertie Pelham was enjoying the whole of Edith's cake. She wondered if he didn't have premarital run of the bakery.

What was she to advise Edith to do? She was a woman in her 30's. Clearly, Lord Hexham wasn't put off by all the sweets being thrown his way and with only a few weeks toward the wedding, her being with child on her wedding day wouldn't be a bad thing at all, since they did need to produce a male heir sometime quite soon. Her Granny would just be the most vocal in her worry about that the (gigantic) baby was coming early.

Seeing her daughter link arms with Edith, with a warm affectionate look upon her face, suddenly warmed the old woman's heart. Edith was Rosamund's favorite. She reflected. Not only her favorite niece, but likely her favorite person in the world. They were so alike. Quick witted, soft-hearted yet sour tempered little girls that never quite seemed to belong in the Downton nursery. They were soon joined in conversation by Bertie and his mother. Rosamund drew Mrs. Pelham off the happy couple and off to a corner for a good chat like any fairy godmother worth her salt would do. The two women seemed companionable enough. Perhaps Bertie's mother could become what Isobel was for Violet. Perhaps as Rosamund grew older, she might call Brancaster home.

Feeling her eyes well a bit, the dowager waved Tom over, "Distract me before sentimentality drags me to the depths."

"Did you know Miss Edmunds mother is Italian? She's Catholic." Tom said, brightly, out of nowhere.

Well, that was a distracting thought.


	5. The Bunny Dolly

**The Bunny Dolly, the Frustrated Knight and the Lordly Monster of Mine**

 _Usual Disclaimers_

 _This one came to me this during insomnia. "What if George is a brat?"_

The news of Aunt Edith's coming marriage was received with varied responses in the Downton nursery. Sybbie didn't care for it, Marigold was bouncing like a bunny and George didn't understand what could be so important that he wasn't the center of attention during the hour after tea, so he was exhibiting a range of moods aimed at rectifying that injustice.

George had the face of an angel, but his nanny's never let him forget his exulted position in the household and the nursery. He was Master George. The nursery was his. All the toys, the servants, even Donk and Granny. He'd grant Sybbie had some rights to their grandparents and her father, but Marigold was only there become he, George allowed it. He was graciously like that.

Not really, he'd tried to order her out of the nursery and the abbey once for playing with the good blocks and she'd given him a withering glance and thrown a heavy block at his head. Quite a good arm for a two year old. Then nanny had told him while Marigold was put to bed with no supper for assaulting him, Donk was Earl. Donk quite liked Marigold. Marigold had a home at Downton as long as that was true.

But one thing was true George would be a lord, an Earl, but Sybbie and Marigold would never be ladies. Some day he would have the power to say who remained at Downton and who had to leave.

Only now Aunt Edith and Marigold were leaving! So he could never kick Marigold out later. And Nanny said Marigold was going to have a papa who was a great lord. Greater even that Donk! Richer too. She might even become a lady! And her little brother would be an Earl from the day he was born!

George felt compelled to cause a scene after tea to deal with his emotions.

Miss Sybbie's objections were complex. Nanny said that when Aunt Edith married Lord Hexham he would become her and George's Uncle Bertie. That was fine. He was very nice. Just as nice as Uncle Henry and he didn't smell of cigarettes and yell, "Oy, Sybbie, you are going to be a heartbreaker sooner than you think!" Lord Hexham had a nice, soft voice, smelled clean, brought sweets and he did puppet shows. Oh he seemed very nice.

But he was going to take Aunt Edith away! And he was going to take Sybbie's little dolly, Marigold!

Nanny said so. Nanny said he had a big castle. He would take her sweet Aunt and her little dolly away with him! And he was going to make Aunt Edith his Lady Hexham and then he was going to be Marigold's papa and Aunt Edith was going to be Marigold's mama for real and truly. And that all sounded lovely, but what about her?

It was just all so frustrating! First her Da had taken her to awful smelly Boston, then he'd gotten smart and taken her home again to her sweetest Donk, her Grannies and her Aunts. Only to find that George had grown so proud when she'd been gone that he was almost ungovernable by punching and forced hugging! Only her sweet dolly, Marigold had been truly happy to see her.

And why not? Poor little dolly had been alone with the monster of "mine" for three months. It had taken her almost a day to reclaim the extra-large blocks for the use whole of the nursery (Marigold had very good ideas for building projects) and two hours before her dolly would say anything to her sweetest knight, Sir Sybbie.

George wasn't a bad playmate, but there wasn't that much for another child to love about him. He tattled to nanny. He hogged Mr. Barrow's horsey back rides. He constantly reminded both Sybbie and Marigold that Downton was his house. He let them stay there. And he always told Marigold that she didn't even belong there since she wasn't anybody to anybody at all. Even Aunt Edith belonged to him not Marigold.

And that was when Sybbie would slug him in the arm as hard as she could, then he would run to tattle to nanny and Sybbie would go to bed with no supper. Which would have been infuriating, except that her dolly would sneak her half of hers because her dolly believed in fair.

Maybe she and Da could go live with Aunt Edith and Marigold.

For Miss Marigold, her feelings for Bertie Pelham were love at first sight. He'd come into the nursery with Aunt Edith one morning and explained that lots of people were going to be traipsing through the house to look at things and he told the children where to hide so they could do their most effective people watching. But instead of talking to George or Nanny, he spoke to her!

He was just what she'd always dreamed her papa should look like. He was everything nice. And he liked her because he smiled and patted her cheek! And when he went downstairs, she saw him hold Aunt Edith's hand and kiss her.

Whatever George said, Marigold knew that Aunt Edith belonged only to her. Perhaps she could share her with the nice man, with the sweet face and soft voice.

The next time she saw him, he was very sad. Aunt Edith said that his cousin had died and they'd been very close. He'd come by the nursery by himself with small gifts for all of three of them. Marigold hadn't been able to help herself, she'd given him a big hug. He'd looked so very sad, but the hug made it a bit better, she thought. He said the hug was one of the nicest he'd ever gotten and he was going to work extra hard to make things always were wonderful for her. Which Marigold didn't understand, but that didn't matter. He'd brought her peppermints and a new little stuffed bunny!

Marigold lived and died for stuffed bunnies. She had seven. This was eight and it was pink. It was amazing. He not only got a big kiss, she also said thank you and told him that she was happy to see him. Since she rarely spoke to anyone except Aunt Edith, Sybbie and Donk, this was a big deal.

Then he did a puppet show with sweet Uncle Tom. It was such a lovely afternoon. Aunt Edith had held the Marigold's new bunny throughout the puppet show, for safe-keeping and she'd been allowed to help put everything away as well.

He'd come with Aunt Edith to check on her that night before they'd gone to dinner. She always came to the night nursery to watch them sleep. Marigold knew this because she would often fight sleep, so when Aunt Edith did come, she'd crawl onto her cot with her and sing her a song or tell her a special story and stay until she fell asleep. That night he'd sung to her while she lay in Aunt Edith's arms. And Marigold knew, he was hers.

But then he was gone.

Aunt Edith had come to the nursery to say she was going away for a bit, but that she'd come back for Marigold in a few days. She looked so sad, Marigold had tried to give her the little pink bunny, but that made her start to sob, "You keep, it darling."

When she'd returned she'd seemed fine. She still belonged to Marigold. But she'd been so happy. And where had her dream papa gone?

And then Aunt Edith was happy again because he was back. He was back with an apology and a bigger bunny. This made 10. (Uncle Henry had given her one in the interim. It was nowhere near as nice as this bunny.) It was pale yellow. It was wearing a bonnet. It was the best bunny **ever**.

Then Aunt Edith and Uncle Bertie (for now) explained that she would become their real and true daughter after their wedding. They were going to adopt her and be her Mama and Papa. Marigold had frowned, "Forever?" They embraced her and confirmed they'd be her parents forever, and she'd smiled, "Good!"

Then Uncle Bertie told her about moving to Brancaster. He made it sound like she'd be princess of the castle. That sounded like a bit of fun. And he'd assured her that Sybbie and George could come visit her.

Not George!

Soon all of the dreams of Marigold's almost three years were to come true. She'd have a papa of her very own and he was the sweetest one in the whole world, she would finally get to call Aunt Edith "Mama". And she was going to be a princess in a castle of stuffed bunnies. With her Mama and Papa forever.


	6. What Counts as an Occasion

**What Counts as an Occasion**

 _I've been trying to write a smutty chapter for these two, but I can't get them out of their underwear because they won't stop_ _ **talking**_ _! So I skipped the hard part, no pun intended._

This was an idiotic thing to be tiffing about. Honestly, in Bertie's opinion, what did they have to be tiffing about anyway? They were naked, in bed together, still recovering from their enthusiastic but admittedly extremely quiet lovemaking session, at a house party in a house that belonged to neither's family. He would have not thought this was the moment he was going to find out that Edith could be difficult.

"This is seventh time we've made love." She said confidently. Well, of course she was confident, he'd be confident too if he could cause major confusion by just sitting in bed with loose hair and no top on.

Well Bertie had no idea how many actually times they had made love because neither previous occasion had been merely a singular event, but he did know one thing, this was the third occasion of their intimate activities.

Well, both his math and his referring to their love making as "intimate activities" were called into question. Causing him to try to remember where Edith was currently situated in her monthly timekeeping activity. Last month, he'd begun to keep track as well after he'd received the early morning all clear phone call after their first occasion.

"What counts as an occasion?" Edith asked, tartly.

"Fine. The first occasion was the night we became engaged, agreed?" Bertie asked. Edith smiled at the memory and nodded, "The second was after your Aunt Rosamund's engagement dinner for us in London. And this is the third."

"You are only counting those as one occasion each?" Edith asked, incredulously. "'After' Aunt Rosamund's engagement dinner you stayed at my flat for the next day and half. We changed clothes three times and went out to dinner."

"But we never left each other's company once and even when we went out to dinner we were still just going back to the flat to... well, you were there... we were just going back to the flat to carry on... So one occasion." He reasoned, then frowned, "What are you counting as times we've "made love"? based on that occasion, 7 seems low."

Edith bit her lip trying to find her words, "I only count the main part, not the fun cuddle parts that happened in the different rooms."

Since Bertie had been present at both previous occasions, this rationale made perfect sense to him.

"I think as soon as everyone gets dressed and has to get undressed again that starts a new occasion," Edith said, firmly.

"So if I get dressed and you stay naked, but then I get undressed again, does that signify a new occasion," Bertie asked.

"No. That would signify you being very indecisive." Edith said, "The only way it would start a new occasion is if you left and then came back."

Bertie shook his head, "But one of us taking leave of the other and coming back automatically starts a new occasion anyway regardless of if we chose to run out of the house clothed or completely naked." Edith frowned deeply at him. "What? I did not start this conversation."

"It's just... Bertie, have you looked at our schedule for the next six weeks?" she asked, sliding over to him, he raised his arm and pulled her close.

He kissed the top of her head and sighed, "I am trying not to dwell on it, but I have looked at it."

"When I say good bye to you in three days, I won't see you for three weeks, unless we actually steal time." She said, sadly.

"So we'll actually steal it. I'll come to Downton on the fly or you and Marigold can come to Brancaster, we'll find a way to break it up in to something we can manage." He promised her, "But after that three weeks is up, it's almost the wedding. Just 11 days."

"Oh, Bertie. Three months seemed like no time at all to plan a wedding, now it seems just like the longest engagement possible," Edith said, "Imagine how much worse it would be if we were being morally and sexually continent."

"I don't even want to think about that. What a horrific thought." Bertie said, pulling the covers over them, "so when do I need to sneak back to my room to avoid scandal?"

"35 year old man sneaks out of 33 year old fiancée's bedroom in the cold light of morning. Nation chokes on their tea in shock." Edith giggled. "Well, Carson would, but I am quite sure the rest of the world would be just fine."

"That's not an answer," Bertie tickled her.

"Fine... Fine..." She shouted, before they both clamped hands over her mouth, in horror. Edith grinned, "if you want me to be quiet...no tickling. Let's see. You should probably skulk off about half past four, at the latest."

Bertie looked at the clock, "It's past two now. If we tried to sleep..."

"We'd just sleep too long... We'd give away the game." she ran a hand up his arm, "But how shall we keep ourselves alert?" She asked rolling on top of him.

Lady Mary had been lying awake and had heard a shriek come from her sister's room. Or thought she had. Fine! She'd play chaperone! Is that what everyone wanted? Fine!

She grabbed her dressing gown and, without waking Henry, tiptoed out of the room. Edith's room was only two doors down, after all. This would be a quick fools errand. Standing outside the door, posed to knock, she suddenly pressed her ear to the door instead. Listening for a minute, her eyes went wide. "Well, I never!" she turned and fled back to her bedroom.

Really, Edith, it's one thing to feel full and like it hard, it's quite another thing to drone on and on about it. Now Mary had that image in her mind.

Hopefully, Henry wouldn't be wanting any intimate time, because... goodness.


	7. Sponge Sized

**Sponge Sized**

 _Usual disclaimers of non-ownerships_

The next day the manor awoke to the November rain coming down in sheets. This was no day for any kind of activity that didn't involve sitting by a roaring fire and drinking brown liquor.

Mary was in the kind of foul mood that could only categorized as Edith based. The information she'd acquired about her sister's sinister sensual side the night before had left her feeling unsettled. It was that feeling that reminded her of when she found out that the cabbage leaf story, the stork chestnut AND Father Christmas were all lies. Her parents were basically breeding barnyard animals who thought it was humorous to leave small gifts in socks and lie about it. And that she, Mary Crawley, had been born the same as puppies. Out the hind quarters. That was fine for Edith, but not her! Oh, she'd been deeply distressed.

She remembered being so traumatized at age 10 that she'd immediately gone to tell Edith everything so she would be just as wretched and that would make Mary feel loads better. Much to her young girl chagrin, she had found out that Edith already knew where babies came from and about Father Christmas. Mary had hardly ever felt such a blind rage as when her 9 year old sister blinked serenely at her with a little smile and asked, "Yes. I've known since I was 6."

Not just about Father Christmas and babies either. Aunt Rosamund had felt compelled to never lie to Edith, so Edith felt quite free to ask her anything.

Throughout their childhoods, from that moment on, there was forever a chance that Edith knew something Mary didn't.

Anna had told Mary that Edith was taking an afternoon bath. Mary decided, she needed to have a word with her sister.

Mary entered Edith's bedroom. The room certainly looked pristine. Strange to see that after what Mary knew had been happening within its walls just a few hours beforehand. On a whim, she went to the wardrobe, opened a couple of drawers and pulled out a handful of underthings. Holding one piece of pale golden fabric in front of her face, she found she could see right through it. On further inspection she discovered they were bloomers!

Very tiny, very transparent bloomers. Mary threw them back in the drawer and backed away from the wardrobe.

Why was she doing this? She had been making a real effort to be less of a lunatic where Edith was concerned. Now she was raiding her sister's scanty drawer like a dirty minded school boy.

"Who's there?" called a voice from the adjoining bath. The house was quite modernized. Most of the bedrooms had shared or private baths. Edith's bath was shared with the most deathly boring married couple at the party.

Of course, Mary had thought Edith and Bertie were even more boring and apparently they liked to play naked, midnight fox-hunt without the benefit of marriage, so perhaps the whole house was having nightly orgies right under hew nose. "It's me. May I enter?"

"I am in the bath! Just a moment," Edith called back, "Enter." Mary entered to find her sister modestly covered in a shift, which was logical in a shared bath, "Any sign the weather will let up so the guns can go out tomorrow?" She asked, toying with her braided hair, "It's such a waste if the men can't get any sport while they are up."

Mary stared at her sister with her mouth agape.

"What?" Edith asked, reclining in the tub, looking confused.

"I know what you were up to last night. You and Bertie." Mary said, after a moment more gaping. Then she sat down on a vanity stool and stared defiantly at the future Marchioness of Hexham.

Edith blanched slightly, then composed herself staring at her hand to see if she was getting pruned. "I see. Were we too loud? Or did someone see him leave my room?" She was trying to see how to up security.

"I heard you shriek." Mary folded her arms.

Edith looked annoyed, "That? He tickled me because I was being a bit bratty, that wasn't even... For goodness sake!"

"Don't play innocent, I went to your door not 5 minutes later and I over-heard... several things I cannot un-hear." Mary said sternly.

"Oh." Edith calculated, "Five minutes later?" She laughed deeply, "Oh, well then yes. Sincere apologies."

"You don't sound sorry." Mary noted.

"I am sorry you over heard us, I am not sorry for what you over heard," Edith smiled, the seeing her sister's expression, her expression hardened, "Don't make a thing of this, Mary."

"What if you become pregnant?"

Edith sat up in the tub, "We'll I am not pregnant as of three weeks ago, but if I am as of last night, that's a cheerful thought. I need to have a son sooner rather than later and we both want to give Marigold brothers and sisters. Six weeks can be shrugged off."

"After what happened with Michael Gregson, I wonder that you'd be so cavalier." Mary sneered, seeing her happy, confident sister recoil slightly, she pressed on, knowing what she was about to say was beyond the pale horrible, but unable to restrain herself. "What if something awful happened to Bertie? You already got stuck holding the bag once. Michael Gregson fully intended to marry you as well, didn't he? Is tempting fate really a wise idea for you?" Mary felt her stomach twist in regret, as she rose and walked to the door.

Mary felt something hit her square on the buttocks. Hard. She looked down. It was a wooden scrub brush. She looked up to see Edith standing in the tub in her soaking shift looking enraged, "Do not ill-wish Bertie, you witch!"

"I wasn't!" Mary defended herself, rubbing her hindquarters, "I was just pointing out the folly of giving you continuing to give the whole of the cake away."

"It's not folly!" Edith screamed. She shook her head to calm herself. "It's not. I have to love Bertie as much as I can. I know that I only have so much time, such a short time." tears streamed down her face, "Even if I have fifty years, it isn't long enough. And I have to make sure he knows. The folly would be in wasting time with restraint." Edith got out of the tub, grabbing a bathsheet began to dry herself, "I'll never regret Michael. I hope the night we were together, he knew that I loved him though I didn't know how to express it. But I don't think I knew how to love until I had Marigold. She taught me how to make a true connection to another person. That I could love someone more than myself. How to love every day."

Mary felt tears well in her eyes, remembering how irritated she'd been at Edith's reaction to having Marigold in the house. Like she invented motherhood.

"Now I have Bertie too. I am not going to be reserved in my love with either of them. That's a fool's game." Edith peeled off her shift and pulled on her dressing gown.

"If that's your point of view, I won't argue the point further." Mary said, coolly, "You know, I have regrets where Marigold and Bertie are concerned. And I certainly do not ill wish Bertie..." she paused, "I just sometimes speak unguardedly to you."

Edith glared, "If you spoke to another person like you speak to me..."

"I know, they'd probably have beaten me to death in childhood." Mary rolled her eyes, "It's a good thing you are fairly tolerant."

"It's a good thing I have built up a tolerance." Edith shook her head.

"I am having trouble with the shift in how I am being made to... with the change in how I must perceive you." Mary explained as she followed her sister into her bedroom.

"I would ask you how you are coming to perceive me, but I have no weapon." Edith said dryly, ringing the bell for the chambermaid.

"Thank goodness, that sponge is going to leave a bruise that I do not relish having to explain to Henry."

"Send Henry to me." Edith smiled dangerously sitting at her dressing, table, "I'll explain it."

"How kind." Mary said, "It's come to my attention recently that I may have not seen you very clearly. That I might still be seeing you as you were as an awkward girl not as woman who is as Henry says a "biscuit.""

Edith raised an eyebrow, "He called me a biscuit? To my own sister? Was he drunk? Is he mad?"

"Not yet drunk. Quite possibly mad. But it is inappropriate, I am not mad?" Mary asked, then cleared her head, "In any case, I see that I cannot retain my prewar views about you as dowdy. Not when you wear practically no undergarments." Mary glared at the wardrobe, before charging over and grabbing a handful of her underthings out of a drawer, "Honestly, Edith, wasn't Bertie at least shocked when he saw how little you were wearing under your dresses?"

Edith looked at her sister confused, "what are you doing pawing through my bloomer drawer?"


	8. Brown Liquor and Confusion

Brown Liquor and Confusion

Mary had told Henry the entire embarrassing story about what happened with Edith, Henry, finding it hilarious had told Tom. Tom, who honestly viewed Edith as his little sister smiled tightly and withdrew to change for dinner and tried not to think of his sister wearing little to no underwear and having naked midnight fox hunts across the hall from where he was sleeping. He would have loved to have blamed Bertie entirely, but his gut told him Edith was at least an equal partner in his current discomfort as she aimed to have "She loved not always wisely, but too well," as her valediction.

Laura came down a blind hallway and almost barreled him over, "Oh, Mr. Branson, dreadfully sorry!" She grabbed his arm for balance and Tom felt a little swoop in his stomach. She had a lot of force behind her for such a little thing.

"Not at all, you are in a bit of a hurry?" he asked, not knowing why he had formed a question with that statement. Why did Laura Edmonds make him a bit stupid?

She cast her eyes from left to right, "Full disclosure, I can't find my room."

Tom snorted, "It's the best feeling in the world."

"The stupid gong's rung and I thought I could run back to the boss's room and wear something of hers, but I got turned around on the way back there, because I just drank so much Campari... so that plan's not going to work." she said looking at the various identical and sinister oaken doors.

"Campari?" Tom asked, "Did you girls attend a different tea than I did?" Tom admired the way she held her liquor.

"Boss had a quandary. We hashed it out like we do at the office," Laura tilted her head, "We got out a bottle. Only at the office, we don't have to drink it as fast as this because no one is going to ring a stupid gong to try to scare us in to evening gowns... and there are three or four of us... I usually travel with Campari. I am half Italian."

"I am 100% Irish, that doesn't mean I always have a pint of Guinness in my trousers." Tom replied.

"But it is running through your veins and in my opinion, that is what counts," Laura thumped him on the chest, right above his heart and gives him a wink. She turns in a circle, "I am going to die in this hallway."

"The gong rang five minutes ago..." Tom reasoned.

"Shhh..." Laura waved her hand at him, "I am being overly dramatic."

"I can't argue with that," Tom folded his arms over his chest.

"Is the red lounge this way?" she asked, pointing down the hall where Tom had come from.

"I have no idea. I just leave a trail of peanut shells when I want to find my way." Tom shrugged.

"With that attitude, you are not angling to not be invited for tomorrow's post tea bottle of Disaronno." Laura said, smiling.

"You don't mean that," Tom smiled back.

"No, of course, you are invited. I think you might be the only person here who would ever consider leaving a trail of peanut shells. That's worth something." She looked around then whispered, "Everyone is well groomed, here. It's not natural. And there's no dust. Anywhere."

"They pay people." Tom whispered back.

"You sure they hire people people?" Laura raised her eyebrows, "I mean... my room is so clean, seriously, what are they hiding?"

"You are crazy."

"No. no, no. I just get super creative when I drink." Laura chuckled, "Don't fear me."

Anna waddled down the hall, carrying a small sewing basket, "Miss Edmonds the gong has rung! You'll be late."

"I've got a bit turned around getting back to my room." Laura confessed.

"Oh, that does happen." Anna said, "All the houses basically have the same layout once you've been inside a few. I'll get you back to your room."

"I'll walk with you and then I'll make sure you make it to dinner." Tom walked with them.

"You are sweet." Laura smiled.

"What were you and Edith hashing out?" Tom asked.

"Lady Mary was going through her underwear drawer." Laura frowned, "She was a bit confused and we were trying to figure out why."

"Oh." Tom said.

"My." Anna muttered.

"No ideas?" Laura asked.

"Confused." Tom and Anna replied.


End file.
